


Appointed Inheritance

by ZephyrRhiesFyrian



Category: Keys to the Kingdom - Garth Nix
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26313157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZephyrRhiesFyrian/pseuds/ZephyrRhiesFyrian
Summary: (inspired by taywen's work :3)A mortal raised in the House; the phrase itself is flawed, isn't it? Beings don't age in the House, and the Denizens who work in the House are possibly the most ill-suited to childcare in all of Creation.So what happens when the seven Trustees of the Architect end up with a mortal infant with the potential to be a Rightful Heir and no choice but to raise him?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Appointed Inheritance

**_Mister Monday_ **

Mister Monday had not attended the meeting in which the other Days had decided to keep the mortal child. In fact, he had not attended any meetings in near nine thousand years. The awful exhaustion had begun some hundred years after they had broken the Will, steadily growing and sapping his energy until he couldn’t even will himself to lift a quill, let alone stand up and walk to an elevator.

Perhaps that was the issue; his apathy, rather than sleepiness. Denizens rarely tired, but Monday could remember a time when he would feel the burn of tiredness but could stave it off, adamant upon writing a final report, or signing one last bill.

Now he had no incentive to do anything.

It was a shame, he thought; he’d have liked to have seen how the meeting had gone. Noon had of course filled him in, though not without a few snide comments, and Monday had a general grasp about what had gone on, but perhaps if he’d been there he could find it inside himself to actually care about what would happen to the child.

Presently, Dawn was the child’s main caretaker when the boy spent time in the Lower House. Noon and Dusk would fill in when there was business she herself had to attend to, but her brothers were significantly less adept at childcare. Noon even more so than Dusk; as Monday’s right-hand Denizen, he was sharp and cunning, not quite the traits looked for in a caretaker.

Thankfully the child wasn’t often in the Lower House, likely because of the state of the demesne. It was in shambles, and Monday knew it, but he had so little desire to do anything about it.

Monday was asleep more often than not these days, and most times the child was there he never saw him. The times he had almost made him wish he hadn’t. Not that the child was unpleasant in any way, he was just a normal-looking mortal boy, but rather it was that he was different every time Monday saw him. _Older,_ he supposed, and that was concerning.

Time didn’t pass the same in the House as it did in the Secondary Realms. That was why the Piper’s Children and the Raised Rats never aged; while the House did have days and months and years, the beings within remained unchanged.

Almost all beings, he amended.

The child, a mortal just like the Piper’s Children, still aged just like he would have back in the Secondary Realms, albeit somewhat slower; time did run differently in the House than it did in the Secondary Realms. The question was, why? By all accounts, the child was fully mortal; he had even had some sort of breathing disease while he was on his home world, though that was now negated by the nature of the House, knocking out the possibility of the child being half-immortal like Lord Sunday.

Thinking about this made Mister Monday even more tired than he had been previously. He had intended to work on something –what was it? –that required his immediate attention, but it was now lost to his exhausted mind.

A sound from somewhere to his left caught his attention and he turned, only to see the small, guilty looking face of the mortal child. He must have snuck away from Dawn somehow.

The child whispered something, but Monday couldn’t hear it over the bubbling of the mud surrounding them.

The _mud._

Getting hit even by a small drop of it would surely kill the child.

Something that might have been alarm tried to pierce through Monday’s shell of sleepiness, but only a tiny bit got through. Thankfully it was enough, and with a great deal of effort, Mister Monday leapt from his hammock, his jump cushioned by his wings.

“What are you–” he paused to yawn, suddenly swaying on his feet, “doing in here?”

The child looked resolutely at his shoes but pointed to the bubbling mud. He mumbled something that Monday didn’t catch and scuffed the walkway with his toe of his shoe.

“What was that?” Monday raised his eyebrows, his eyes flickering back to his hammock. He could simply return to it and call one of his Times in…but no, he ought to do something. He shook his head to clear it and looked back down at the boy.

The child’s words were still mumbled, but from the few he could hear, Monday garnered that the boy had been curious about the sounds the mud made and wandered in from the offshoot room of the Dayroom Dawn usually kept him in to investigate. From the boy’s guilty tone and the way he glanced at the hammock, Monday assumed to boy must’ve thought he’d woken him up when he’d come in.

Monday would have laughed if he’d had the energy. Most Denizens were light sleepers –given that they didn’t need sleep for the same reasons mortals did –so the boy’s assumption made sense, but nowadays there was very little that could wake Monday from his slumber.

A tired but amused smile stretching his features, Monday carefully ushered the boy towards the exit of the Dayroom, keeping his wings folded around them so as to shield the boy from any stray drops of boiling mud.

Honestly, what had the Days been thinking, adopting a human child?

* * *

**_Grim Tuesday_ **

Simply put, the child shouldn’t have existed. He was unnatural; not Made like Grim Tuesday’s Near Creations, not wrought by the Architect like the Denizens, and not quite the product of the seedlings the mortals had grown into.

No, the child was something entirely different, and perhaps that was the reason Grim Tuesday found it so fascinating.

_Him,_ the Denizen mentally corrected himself. He was so unused to finding interest in something living. Most of his treasures were objects –save for Shelvocke, still locked away in his room –illustrious paintings, marble statues, delicate glasswork, and coinage of all different metals and mints. All original works, which both delighted Grim Tuesday and infuriated him at the same time; he hated being reminded of his inability to be creative.

But unlike paintings or hammered gold, Grim Tuesday was unable to make a copy of the child, or any other living creature. In this way, then, the child was truly original. Not a creature like him existed in all of Creation, inside the House or out of it. Even Shelvocke was one of three half-immortals, the other two being Lord Sunday and the Piper. But this child was purely unique.

It was this uniqueness that spurred the Grim to side with Friday at the meeting, despite his dislike of the flighty Denizen, as she had been the one to first suggest they keep the child. He had hesitated at first, disliking the prospect of sharing the creature, and said as much, but he’d been thoroughly reprimanded by Wednesday’s Dawn, who snapped at him for first calling the child a ‘creature’ –which he _was_ –and second for implying a living sentient being could be _shared._

Grim Tuesday still didn’t entirely understand why she’d been so irate, but he’d reluctantly nodded to her and gone along with it.

He was still bothered by the fact that possession of the child wasn’t solely his, but at this point further arguing would likely result in Lord Sunday doing something unspeakable to him with the Seventh Key; he’d already caused enough of a stir in the meeting that Lord Sunday had had to quell.

Saturday had naturally wanted nothing to do with the child, but Lord Sunday had overruled her, saying that if a few of the Days had to take time out of their lives to care for the child, then all should. It was only fair, after all. And he had pointed out that if Saturday truly didn’t want to care for the child, she need only set one of her Times of Day to do it instead.

From what the child had said about his time with Saturday, this was the route she had gone.

Grim Tuesday, of course, didn’t have the luxury of setting the task of caring for the child to one of his Times, since he didn’t have them anymore. Not really, at least; he had the Grotesques, but they would be even less equipped to look after a child than ordinary Denizens.

Nor would the Grim allow any of his Denizens to watch the child. There were a few reasons for this, but the most important was that he simply didn’t want to; no matter how much Wednesday’s Dawn complained about it, the child still _belonged_ to him, and he would allow no one else to touch what belonged to him.

As much as he could, at least; he did still have to relinquish possession of the child for a week or so to allow the other Days their assigned time, but he could take pleasure in the fact that due to his enthusiasm the child was in the Far Reaches more often than any other demesne, save the Middle House.

Unfortunately, Grim Tuesday couldn’t watch the child for the entire duration of his stay; the Far Reaches needed much attention, be it plugging shafts, overseeing the diggings, or directing the forges.

Because of this, Grim Tuesday had set Shelvocke to watch the child during the days he was gone.

He didn’t like having to place his trust in the Mariner –didn’t like placing trust in anyone, really –but it was his only option, and despite their mutual hatred, Shelvocke had nothing against mortals, and certainly nothing against mortal children.

The child adapted well to his new caretaker, which was a relief and an irritation to Grim Tuesday, though he at least found solace in the fact that the boy would still come running to him every time he returned from Up Station.

Strangely though, Grim Tuesday noted, there was no sign of the boy when he entered the Treasure Tower this time. Shelvocke usually alerted him when the Grim was due to arrive, and the boy would be waiting on the first few metal steps that led up to the next level.

However, the boy was nowhere in sight.

Grim Tuesday frowned, scanning the courtyard of the Tower. Occasionally the boy managed to sneak up on him, simply by way of being a tiny mortal, but upon spinning around several times and staring downward, Grim Tuesday determined that today this was not the case.

“Arthur?”

The topic of the boy’s name was one they’d argued over for a good portion of the meeting. Lord Sunday said they should name him something Denizen-adjacent, something to reflect his status as a resident of the House, but Wednesday’s Dawn and Friday had both been adamant upon keeping the boy’s birth name, which was ‘Arthur’.

According to Friday, she’d discovered the boy whilst scouting out possible sources of mortals for her experiencing purposes. This was a lie and Grim Tuesday knew it, but the ramifications of _that_ would lead to a great deal more questioning from Lord Sunday, and the Grim did not want to risk possibly losing his Mastery of the Reaches as a result.

And so, he’d said nothing.

Eventually, after a great deal of arguing and huffing, it was decided that they would all simply call him Arthur.

The boy suddenly appeared, poking his head out of one of the rooms on the ground level of the Tower. He gave a surprised squeak when he caught sight of Grim Tuesday, ducking back into the room and out of sight.

What was the boy doing?

Then, with no warning whatsoever, the boy ran out from his hiding place and launched himself at Grim Tuesday, wrapping his little arms around the Denizen’s leg.

“Arr, avast!” cried Arthur, though the word was slightly slurred, as he waved about what appeared to be a palm frond.

Amused, Grim Tuesday watched the small mortal brandish the palm frond and swing it at his legs. Shelvocke must’ve been telling him stories again.

The Grim stamped his foot, knocking the boy off and onto the ground. It was only a momentary daze, though, and a second later Arthur was on his feet again, swinging his frond and yelling a battle cry.

As the tiny mortal charged, Grim Tuesday felt, for the first time in ten thousand years, a true smile twisting his lips.

* * *

**_Drowned Wednesday_ **

Lady Wednesday had long since accepted her fate. Her transformation into the Leviathan had happened so long ago she barely remembered the details, and probably only recalled what little she did due to her bitterness at her betrayal. She retained some of her Key’s power, but only enough to keep herself from growing any larger and losing the last remnants of her sanity.

The hunger only got worse as time went on, after all.

She’d lost her Noon and Dusk to that hunger; they’d been the first to attempt dragging her out of the sea when the other Morrow Days –excepting Monday –had cursed her and thrown her overboard, but despite knowing their noble intentions Wednesday could not withhold herself from devouring them on sight.

It was a memory that haunted her to that day.

Dawn grew cautious after hearing of her siblings’ fates, but she remained faithful to her Mistress still. Dawn’s caution was what had led to the creation of their code; a series of eye movements Dawn could interpret from afar so she need not get close and risk Wednesday’s uncontrollable hunger. It underwent much trial and error, but after around seven thousand years of using it, it became as simple as breathing.

Perhaps simpler, Lady Wednesday thought, as she had to concentrate on not sinking too far else she might inhale water.

Being in the form of a Leviathan, Wednesday couldn’t fulfill her duties as a Trustee, and so that fell to Dawn. As such, Wednesday didn’t hear about Arthur until a few days after the meeting.

“Milady!”

The glittering pinprick that was Dawn appeared in the periphery of Lady Wednesday’s vision, her voice amplified.

“I have just returned from a meeting with the Days,” came Dawn’s call.

_What did they want?_ Wednesday signed, concerned. She could never be sure the Morrow Days weren’t constantly plotting against her, and she wished for Dawn not to have to get involved.

“Lady Friday has acquired a mortal child,” was Dawn’s reply. “The Days have decided to keep him and raise him in the House.”

_A mortal child?_ Wednesday’s eye moved rapidly, conveying her alarm. _Raised in the House? Is that even possible?_

“Friday seems to believe it is,” answered Dawn. “Apparently she found him on one of her _excursions_ into the Secondary Realms.”

_Surely she doesn’t wish to experience him?_

“Not that I know of,” Dawn said. “Saturday was against keeping him, but Sunday overruled her. All Trustees have been ordered to watch the child for some length of time.”

_They don’t expect me to, do they?_ Wednesday couldn’t shift back into a human form for longer than a few minutes at most, and even during that she couldn’t focus on more than eating.

“I have been charged to serve as the child’s caretaker while he visits the Border Sea,” Dawn said. “Because of our predicament, he will not be spending a great amount of time with us.”

_Why does Friday wish to keep the child?_

“I am uncertain,” came Dawn’s reply after a brief pause. “Her Noon accompanied her and they both seemed…harried, perhaps? Friday especially. I believe the experiencing she indulges in may be affecting her mind negatively.”

_And what of the other Days?_ Wednesday asked. _What did they have to say to her request?_

“Sunday was impartial,” said Dawn. “Saturday, as I said, was entirely against keeping him, as was Thursday. Tuesday and I both sided with Friday, and Monday’s Noon sided with Saturday. Sunday eventually ruled in our favor.”

Truly bizarre. Was it perhaps that the Days wanted to raise the child to become a Rightful Heir? Brought up by the Trustees, the boy would surely develop some familial attachment to them, and if the Days _did_ release the Will and give the child the Keys, were they counting on that attachment convincing the boy to spare them from the tide of Nothing that would consume all of Creation?

Surely that must be their plan. Or, at the very least, Sunday’s plan. Tuesday likely only wanted to keep the child for himself, Dawn would have sided with Friday because of her concern for the mortal, but as for Friday…

It seemed to Wednesday was Dawn was correct; Friday’s mind was fragmenting from all her experiencing. Denizens weren’t made to feel mortal emotions, so the fashion of experiencing was horribly detrimental to a Denizen’s psyche. Was that where her sudden desire to raise a mortal child was stemming from? Was it a lingering memory of some mortal’s parenthood that was affecting her so strongly?

Wednesday supposed there wasn’t much to do now but wait; beings didn’t age in the House, so how long would it be before the Days realized that raising a mortal boy would be near impossible inside of it? They would have to send a representative out into the Secondary Realms and raise the boy there so he’d age properly, but that, Wednesday was sure, would be a source of much consternation.

Painful shocks of hunger struck through Wednesday’s stomach and she turned back to the ocean, focusing on directing the fish into her path. With a farewell, Dawn shot off back the other way, likely towards Port Wednesday to resume her immediate duties.

“Milady!” sounded Dawn’s hearty cry.

Wednesday’s heart rose, warmth filling her and drawing her mind away from the gnawing hunger.

Dawn’s form glided some thousand feet above her Mistress, her wings catching the sunlight and glittering like sunbeams.

“Wednesday!” came a quieter, slight garbled voice from somewhere in Dawn’s arms. The amplifying spell Dawn used for her voice was slightly more difficult to perform on another, and so Arthur sounded more distant.

_Hello, you two,_ signed Wednesday in reply, the neutral weariness of her prior mood dissipating at the sight of them. _How was the flight?_

Dawn quickly translated for Arthur, as had become their routine for the nearly eighteen House years since Arthur’s adoption. Through some means –likely Sunday’s doing –Arthur still aged within the House, though it was a great deal slower than it would be in his native world. Wednesday couldn’t be quite sure how old he was by Earth standards, but he had just barely reached schooling age.

“It was really _long,”_ said Arthur, stretching his small arms towards Wednesday, some thousand feet below him. “I think I fell asleep some.”

Wednesday would have chuckled if she still could. Part of her was relieved that Arthur was aging, that he would have some semblance of a normal childhood, but the other part of her was dreading what Sunday had planned for the boy.

_At least you slept some and didn’t have to be awake and bored the whole flight,_ offered Wednesday.

“Yeah,” Arthur agreed noncommittally. Then with more enthusiasm added, “Dawn said she’d take me to see the Triangle!”

“I said I _might,”_ corrected Dawn. “If you behave.”

“But I _always_ behave!” complained Arthur.

The two continued to playfully squabble, the happy sound filling Wednesday with hope.

Perhaps she needn’t worry too much about Sunday’s plans. Besides, her hunger wasn’t clawing as horribly as it used to…

* * *

**_Sir Thursday_ **

The child was nothing but a nuisance in Sir Thursday’s eyes. After that loathsome meeting, he’d made it clear to his subordinates that this was not _his_ decision, but rather a direct order from Lord Sunday and thus to be followed without question.

He’d tasked Marshal Dusk with finding someone suitable to watch the mortal child. Sir Thursday’s Times, his Marshals, were far too important to the functionality of the Great Maze to be squandered off watching a _child,_ but at the same time, Sir Thursday knew that the child still had to be cared for, and not just any Denizen would do.

In fact, Marshal Dusk had suggested not using a Denizen at all. His selected caretaker was a Piper’s Child; a respected officer, but not important enough to cause unrest were she removed from her post for a few days. A former mortal would certainly be better equipped to care for a mortal infant than a Denizen.

And so the Piper’s Child was placed in charge of the mortal boy, and Sir Thursday made sure it was impressed upon her the importance of this job and severity of punishment should she fail.

This was an order from Lord Sunday, and no matter how much Sir Thursday detested his ruling, he had to obey to the best of his ability.

As it happened, Marshal Dusk was an excellent judge of character, and the Piper’s Child managed the mortal with relative ease, at least compared to the Denizens who’d been assigned to assist her when necessary. She reported to Marshal Dusk at the sunset of every day the mortal spent in the Great Maze, and Dusk of course reported directly to Sir Thursday.

As the child aged –how he did so _inside_ the House, Thursday didn’t know –the Marshals became more involved with his upbringing. Dawn, though rarely seen at the Citadel during campaigns, made sure to say hello to the boy and listen to his babbling stories every time she was there. Noon was at the Citadel more often and, perpetually bright and boisterous as he was, took immense delight in play-fighting with the boy and teaching him all about the different martial styles of the Army’s factions. Noon had proudly informed Sir Thursday that the boy was showing great aptitude as a soldier, though Sir Thursday was skeptical.

Sir Thursday himself rarely saw the boy, as he purposely stayed away –when possible –from the area of the Citadel where the boy stayed. Marshal Dusk had graciously allowed his room to be used for the mortal when he stayed in the Great Maze, and thankfully that room was settled far back into the Citadel, as Dusk preferred the quiet and the shadows. Of course, oftentimes when Marshal Dusk would stroll into the Star Fort, the boy would be hard on his heels, happily chattering on about something or other. The sound of the boy’s incessant talking rode on Sir Thursday’s already fried nerves, though a simple glare usually shut the boy up.

Marshal Dusk had never outright expressed displeasure at this, though he had subtly slipped into his reports that Arthur –for that was the boy’s name –did quite look up to Sir Thursday, and thus perhaps the commanding officer could attempt to be a little more patient with him.

Presently, Sir Thursday was on his way to Marshal Noon’s office. He normally would have sent a private or corporal to retrieve him, but his temper was exceptionally short today and unnecessary social interaction was sure to snap him.

Marshal Noon was indeed in his office, but he wasn’t alone. The mortal boy was with him, sitting on the floor, watching Noon demonstrate how to properly roll one’s sword over one’s wrist.

Upon seeing Sir Thursday, Noon immediately snapped to attention and clashed his bracer against his gilt breastplate. Squeaking in surprise, the boy quickly jumped to his feet and copied Noon’s movements, though his reiteration was quite a bit sloppier.

“Marshal, you are needed in the operations room,” Sir Thursday said, watching the boy’s movement out of the corner of his eye. Despite his poor salute, the mortal managed to remain standing at attention fairly well, though his discomfort was clear.

He’d have to work on that if he ever wanted to be a real soldier.

“Yes, sir!” Marshal Noon quickly strode from the room, clearly expecting Arthur to follow.

To his credit, Arthur tried. However, he moved the wrong foot at the wrong time and got one caught on the other, falling to his face on the carpeted floor. He clambered back up, but alarm registered on his face when he realized Marshal Noon had disappeared of the door of the office and left him alone with Sir Thursday.

Arthur, apprehension visible on his small face, made an attempt to stand at attention again –this time was even worse than the last –and looked resolutely at a point somewhere off to Sir Thursday’s right. It was apparent that Sir Thursday’s presence had disturbed Arthur’s usual routine, and now that Noon was gone he had no idea what to do.

Dimly, Sir Thursday realized he himself was in the same predicament. Marshal Noon had gone off to the operations room, and, knowing that Denizen, it would be another week before he realized Arthur hadn’t been following him. That meant that Sir Thursday now had to deal with the boy, without any knowledge of what he was supposed to do.

And so, he started with what he did know.

“Stand at ease, soldier,” Sir Thursday said, breaking the tense silence that had filled the room.

Arthur blinked and looked confused for a moment, likely trying to remember what ‘standing at ease’ was, before he shifted into a posture that was most assuredly not at ease.

“That’s not at ease,” Sir Thursday said bluntly, and, upon seeing Arthur’s look of terror, added, “I’m not going to kill you for that, boy. Marshal Noon has been teaching you, has he not?”

Arthur nodded vigorously.

“When I ask a question, you will respond with a ‘yes, sir’ or a ‘no, sir’, is that clear?” Sir Thursday narrowed his eyes.

“Yes, sir!” Arthur said, bouncing once on his heels before remembering he was supposed to be standing still.

“Standing at ease is to stand with your feet apart and hands behind your back,” Sir Thursday said, watching Arthur carefully to make sure he was following along correctly. “Head up another inch, boy. Now, let’s try this again. Atten-hut!”

A brief expression of panic flashed across Arthur’s face, before he snapped his heels together and, remembering Noon’s earlier Legionary salute, slammed his right forearm against his chest. He lacked a bracer or breastplate, but he was mostly in time and his posture was ramrod straight.

Impressive for such a young mortal, Thursday had to concede. He nodded to show Arthur he was pleased, before ordering him to stand at ease again. Arthur was barely a second out of time, but his ankle locked as he was trying to separate his feet and he pitched sideways, only barely catching himself. Looking guilty, the boy stood back up and reassumed an at ease position.

“Do not rush if you are unsure,” Sir Thursday said. “You aren’t on the parade ground yet.”

“Yes, sir!” Arthur replied, his small voice enthusiastic.

Perhaps Marshal Noon was correct, and this boy did have potential.

“Atten-h–”

“Arthur?” Marshal Noon came rushing back through the door, looking mildly embarrassed and flustered at having forgotten his charge. “Sir!”

He snapped a salute to Sir Thursday before turning to Arthur.

“Did you not follow me out?” Noon asked.

“I tripped,” Arthur answered quietly, looking down at his feet.

“Ah, I see, the worst of all offenses,” Noon nodded sagely, but a smile was glittering in his eyes. “Well, now that I have completed my prior pressing duties, do you want to go look out from the bastions?”

“Yes!” Arthur’s prior seriousness fell away and was replaced with childish excitement.

“Off we go, then,” Noon bent down and lifted Arthur onto his shoulders, saluting Sir Thursday once more before leaving the room.

Sir Thursday sighed, before remembering why he’d come to fetch Noon and turning abruptly to exit the office.

Perhaps he ought to take more of an initiative with the boy’s rearing; it didn’t seem nearly as infuriating as he’d thought.

* * *

**_Lady Friday_ **

The days that Arthur was in the Middle House were Lady Friday’s favorites. With Noon, Dusk and Dawn taking care of the Middle House’s affairs, Friday had plenty of time to spend doting on Arthur. She’d even had a small retreat built in the side of the mountain; her old mansion she’d had moved to one of the Secondary Realms where she could partake in more experiencing without affecting the Middle House’s productivity.

When she’d entered the hospital she found Arthur in, she had just finished her last batch of humans and was on her way to acquire more. The remnants of emotion still lingered on her tongue, and when she’d come across the Children’s Ward and poked her head in, she’d been overcome by a wave of motherly love for the small infant. Heedless to Noon’s insistence that they leave the boy, Lady Friday took him from the hospital and brought him back to the Middle House.

She’d attempted to stay under the other Days’ noses, but sure enough, Lord Sunday had found out and called a meeting. Personally, Friday would have preferred to raise the boy herself, quietly and undisturbed, perhaps in her retreat in the Secondary Realms. But after Grim Tuesday had inserted himself into the discussion and all but demanded he be given possession of the boy, that was out of the question.

Thankfully, Arthur was most often in her demesne, and he’d formed quite the attachment to her, just as she’d become quite attached to him. Such strong attachment was unusual for Denizens and likely should have been looked at with some level of concern, but Lady Friday had been experiencing for so long she had almost forgotten what it felt like to be a Denizen.

Spending time raising Arthur and not experiencing had been a painful and exhausting change in her life. She’d had to bend over backward just to soothe the biting desire enough to watch Arthur for a few hours. It had grown easier with time, though still, she mostly only managed it out of habit rather than her lusts lessening. It had worked out nicely, though, as now she went through her sleepers slower, and that was a welcome relief.

A smile crept onto Lady Friday’s lips as she waited in her mansion’s lower floor great room. The fire in the hearth was burning brightly, the warm gold light casting a cozy glow over the large, cushiony room. Noon was due to arrive with Arthur soon, having gone to fetch him from the Border Sea.

Lady Friday sat comfortably in one of her grand armchairs, nursing a cup of a floral tasting tea and reading the papers Dawn had brought her earlier. Sir Thursday was sending her angry letters –that wasn’t unusual and she found them quite entertaining to read –representatives from the Border Sea were requesting expedited shipping on their ship’s nameplates that she could’ve sworn she’d already signed for –she’d have Noon look over that –and the Middle House was due to sell a good hundred indentures to the Far Reaches.

She sighed; there was just so _much._ She’d spent the last six thousand years living mostly in the Secondary Realms, and it was a rather rude slap in the face to return to the Middle House and have everyone asking her for things. Dawn should have been taking care of this. She’d placed him in charge when she’d first moved to the Secondary Realms, as he had never shown any interest in experiencing and didn’t want to join them, so why wasn’t he doing his job?

Lady Friday folded the crisp parchments, the crackling punctuated by the sound of opening doors and cheerful chattering.

Lady Friday looked up, setting the papers back on the side table next to her armchair. The door to the great room was pushed open and a rumpled, snow-dusted Noon entered, followed by a red-faced but happy Arthur. Upon catching sight of Friday, Arthur’s already bright expression broke into a delighted, wide-eyed smile.

“Mum!” he cried, dashing across the room towards her despite Noon’s pleadings for him not to run in the mansion.

She’d established herself as his mother quite early on, despite the other Days’ grievances about the matter. It had been her plan to raise him, after all, not theirs. Lord Sunday had passively suggested she drop the moniker –though she was fairly certain the complaints were from Grim Tuesday, not wanting to be upstaged –but she refused, and Sunday had never really pressed the matter.

Friday quickly set her teacup down and caught Arthur as he launched himself at her, pulling him up to sit in her lap, a broad smile curving her lips.

“Hello, Arthur,” she said, brushing stray bits of snow from the boy’s hair. “How was the Border Sea?”

“It was _awesome,”_ Arthur said, happily flapping his coat-covered arms around. “Dawn took me to see the Triangle!”

“Did she really?” Friday stood up and moved them to a cushion closer to the fire; it was so much easier to ignore the demanding desire for experiences when Arthur was there. “Goodness, you’re freezing! You did take the elevator to the Scriptorium, didn’t you?”

She twisted her head to cast an accusing glance at Noon, who scrambled to answer.

“Yes, Milady, we did,” he assured her, setting down the bag of Arthur’s things he carried. “But someone had to play in the snow before we came in.”

Lady Friday looked back at Arthur, who was staring at his hands guiltily.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, hiding his face behind the thick coat he wore, which was clearly made for a regular grade Denizen, as it was several times too large and nearly engulfed him completely.

“Oh, I’m not angry, Arthur,” Friday laughed, patting the boy’s head again. “But perhaps next time you should wait until you’re dressed properly for such activities.”

Had Lady Friday been more aware of herself, she might have wondered why she felt so motherly towards the boy. After all, such emotions as love and true affection Denizens couldn’t experience. It wasn’t simply that it was uncommon, what with them being wrought to be task-oriented, rather it was simply that they didn’t have to capacity. It was a clear design choice on the Architect’s part; emotions were messy and caused irrational thinking and actions. Denizens were created for a singular and sole purpose –to work –so love and hate and hope and dread were unnecessary and most certainly unwanted.

But Lady Friday had spent so much time experiencing, she’d begun to absorb the emotions she drank. Denizens were unchanging, yet Friday had changed somehow. Her mind –the one made by the Architect with the express purpose of working –had been rejected, and she’d unintentionally made herself a new one, one born of all the memories and feelings she’d consumed.

Perhaps that was why she felt so distanced from the House and its inhabitants.

“Is this the paperwork for the nameplate shipment?” Noon asked, bending over to peer at the papers on the side table.

“Yes, I was waiting for you to look over them before I sign,” Lady Friday replied, slowly rocking Arthur against her chest. “I thought I had already signed for the shipping to expedited?”

Noon frowned, picking the papers up.

“I do recall that,” he said, taking a handkerchief out of one of his coat’s inner pockets and cleaning his monocle with it. Satisfied, he replaced the eyeglass and narrowed his eyes at the parchments again. “Hmm, I shall have to make a few calls. The paperwork could have gotten duplicated.”

He quickly rolled the set of papers up and tucked them into his coat, before turning back to Friday.

“There is one other matter I must bring to your attention, Milady,” he said, with a wary look at Arthur. “Though perhaps it is one best discussed alone?”

Lady Friday frowned at her chief subordinate. His hands were clasped behind his back, an uneasy smile on his symmetrical features. Clearly something was the matter, Lady Friday thought, before snapping her fingers to call a servant into the room. She quickly gave them their directions –to take Arthur to his room and sit with him until she was available again –and gently brushed the remaining flakes of snow from Arthur’s coat and hair.

“I’ll be up in a moment,” she said, kissing the top of his head. “Noon and I have some grown-up things to discuss.”

Learned movements and phrases from the memories she’d stolen, however unaware of it she was.

Arthur nodded, and he bounced off towards the servant, the door closing behind them with a soft click.

Lady Friday turned on Noon with a questioning look.

“What is this matter that we cannot discuss around Arthur?” she asked, bemused.

“I believe further discourse between his caretakers would make Arthur upset,” Noon said slowly. “Best if he doesn’t hear any of this.”

“Further discourse?” Friday frowned. “What happened, Noon?”

Noon sighed.

“Grim Tuesday has lodged a formal complaint with Lord Sunday,” he said, pinching his brow.

He sounded exasperated, his shoulders slumped and his expression tired.

“Again?” Lady Friday’s brows drew together, concern marring her features and she drew a delicate paper fan from nowhere and fluttered it between her fingers.

“So it seems,” said Noon. “The contents of which I am unaware, but given his prior _whining,_ I believe it is fairly obvious he is still unhappy with the custody arrangements.”

Lady Friday sighed, turning towards the door.

“Is Lord Sunday calling a meeting?”

“Yes, Milady,” answered Noon, falling in step a few paces behind her. “From the wording of the Reaper’s letter, it appears Lord Sunday is treating this with as much importance as one would expect.”

“Quite a bit then, I presume?”

Noon nodded seriously.

* * *

**_Superior Saturday_ **

It was absurd –an insult really –that Saturday, the most superior Denizen of the House, had to use _her_ precious time to care for some useless mortal child. Really, Friday and Tuesday were only two that actually _wanted_ the thing, so why not let them fight over it? Saturday had better things to see to than a child.

She set her Noon to that task. He was a straightforward, simple Denizen, whereas her Dusk and Dawn were cunning and slippery, much more to her liking. She preferred Dusk’s quiet disdain and Dawn’s witty scheming to Noon’s loud, steadfastness.

He wasn’t her first Noon, anyway. Her first Noon had been significantly craftier, forward but sly at the same time, but he had met an unfortunate end at the mandibles of one of Sunday’s infernal beetles. Her new Noon’s old position was irrelevant, but what was important was that he had just returned from his stint in the Glorious Army of the Architect, meaning he was best suited to head her army when she finally broke through into the Incomparable Gardens.

Unfortunately, she had misjudged her ability to tolerate a loud, obnoxious military officer. She should have expected this, really; she’d never been able to stand Thursday for very long after all.

But as it turned out, though her Noon was ill-suited to work in the Upper House after his time in the Army, he was surprisingly well suited to deal with a mortal child.

It was a twist of luck that Saturday didn’t have to sacrifice one of her actually useful Times to this infuriating task, but instead could use the one she needed out of the way anyway.

“Majesty?”

Saturday turned from her position standing sentinel by her window. Dawn stood at the top of the stairs, bowed at the waist, his pale pink top hat doffed to her.

“What is it, Dawn?” Saturday strode back to her desk, taking a seat and removing her Key from behind her ear.

“Noon requests permission to teach the mortal how to operate a pair of wings,” said Dawn without missing a beat, replacing his top hat on his head.

Saturday narrowed her eyes.

“And Noon does not see fit to ask me himself?”

“You banished the mortal from your chambers, Majesty,” replied Dawn. “I believe Noon did not wish to leave it unattended. I told him I could watch it while he came to request, but I don’t believe he trusts me.”

“No one trusts you, Dawn,” Saturday said flatly, her words answered by a bright smile from Dawn that, true his nature, did not reach his eyes. “Tell Noon the permission is granted, but he will have to acquire the wings himself. Let him know he is allowed to bring the mortal in, but only if he must.”

Saturday wrote something on a small square of parchment too fast for mortal –and most immortal –eyes to catch, then handed it to Dawn. He took it, looked it over out of curiosity, and tucked it into a waistcoat pocket.

“Was there anything else?” Saturday asked, her gaze cold as she watched her Time; he was made to serve her, made to obey her every command, but that did not mean she trusted him. Too many strange things were happening in the House of late, and one could never be sure who was friend and who was foe.

“Yes, Majesty, there is indeed,” Dawn answered, and this time his smile did reach his eyes, though now it had a malevolent edge to it. “Dusk reports that the recent improvement upon his Internal Auditors’ Activated Ink may have some effect on those repulsive beetles.”

His smile was mirrored by Saturday’s own.

“That is excellent news, Dawn,” she twirled her Key restlessly between her fingers. “How much of the Ink is ready for use?”

“Alas, not much,” said Dawn with a grimace, though it lasted only a moment. “From Dusk’s report, perhaps fifteen of the upper-grade Auditors’ swords have been altered as of right now, but I should think the complete alterations will be done in a fortnight or so, yes.”

Saturday nodded, before waving Dawn off. He bowed to her again, doffing his hat once more, before descending the spiral staircase, back to his duties.

A marvelous turn of events, for sure. With the improvements to the Activated Ink, Saturday could finally stunt those horrid Drasils’ growth and break through into the Gardens, taking what was rightfully hers all along. For ten thousand years she’d toiled, building up her tower cube by cube, office by office, and now all her work would _finally_ pay off.

Absently, she wondered what she’d do with the mortal once she felled Sunday and established her reign of the Incomparable Gardens. It wasn’t fully mortal –that she knew –it was something else, something unknown. It aged, even within the House, which was contrary to anything and everything that had come before it, and Saturday would know; she was the oldest entity in the House –save the Architect and the Old One –and her sorcerers worked day in and day out to catalogue the existence of every single speck of matter in the entirety of Creation.

So, if it wasn’t mortal, what was it? The next logical assumption would be that it was a half-immortal, like that blasted Sunday and his kin. But even that wasn’t a perfect answer. Sunday didn’t age in the House; he and his brothers had been raised by the Old One and the Architect out in the Secondary Realms. Sunday and the Piper had returned to the House, but the Mariner had stayed behind, his progressed physical age attesting to that.

So the not-so-mortal mortal wasn’t a half-immortal, either. Unless, perhaps, he was Sunday’s son like Sunday was the Architect’s? Or the child of the Mariner, Saturday supposed, though it couldn’t be the Piper’s; Saturday herself had seen to that.

Though, with Sunday’s initial impartiality in regards to keeping the child, Saturday doubted it was his. Or at least if it was, he didn’t know. The more likely answer was that it was the Mariner’s child, born to some mortal woman in the Secondary Realms that he’d grown fond of on his travels. This theory did of course have its issues, not the least of which was that the Mariner was nowhere to be found, and hadn’t been seen in nearly three thousand years. But, being missing-in-action, he wasn’t there to disprove the theory either.

She would have to keep a closer eye on the boy to see if when he aged, a resemblance to the Mariner and his brothers was evident.

* * *

**_Lord Sunday_ **

Arthur was significantly better behaved than Lord Sunday’s brothers. Being the partial immortal he was, Lord Sunday could remember his childhood almost perfectly, and from his recollection, both of his brothers –and possibly him, though he’d never admit it –had been full of uncontrollable energy and it was a miracle the Architect and the Old One had managed to keep them in line.

While Tom had eventually grown out of it, having remained in the Secondary Realms, the Piper had never grown up –much like the children he’d brought to the House –as the Architect had brought him to the Gardens when he was quite young, permanently impeding his aging.

Arthur, on the other hand, had shown no signs of impeded aging, and in fact had been aging rather quickly, at least from Lord Sunday’s perspective. Especially being that he was in the House; Sunday himself had stopped aging as soon as he’d taken up personal residence in the House, having already reached mental maturity. Arthur, on the other hand, was still aging just as he would in the Secondary Realms.

Lord Sunday found the days that Arthur spent in the Incomparable Gardens to be quite pleasant. He wouldn’t say he enjoyed them much more than he did any other days, but he would admit that it was a nice change of scenery to care for the boy. It brought forth a great deal of old, happy memories from when Sunday still lived in the Secondary Realms with his brothers.

Particularly today, as Arthur had done precisely as the Piper had done so many years ago and provoked the wormsnake into attacking. He wasn’t injured aside from a few bruises, but he had certainly been startled by the creature’s sudden and aggressive appearance.

“What _was_ that?” Arthur was saying, having mostly recovered from his fright. “Why is it so mean?”

Lord Sunday chuckled, gently tousling the boy’s hair.

“That was the wormsnake,” he answered. “One of Mother’s very first creations.”

Arthur’s eyes went wide and he crawled over to the stone formation that Sunday was sitting on.

“Your _mum_ made that?” Arthur squinted in the direction of the hill the wormsnake had made its home. _“Wow.”_

“Indeed She did,” Sunday said. “The Elysium was the first place Mother created as well.”

Arthur slid down from the rock and pressed his hands down on the grass, staring at it in wonder.

“So this has been here for forever?” he flopped down onto his stomach and watched a pair of large glittering butterflies land on the wide petals of a flower.

“Well, not all of it,” said Sunday, crouching down beside Arthur. With a swift and practiced movement he caught one of the butterflies, curling his fingers to form a cage around it. “For a long time, the Gardens were very empty, save for a few select entities; the wormsnake and the old guardian beetles, to name a few. But the flowers and diverse plant life Mother gathered from different worlds in the Secondary Realms later on, only a few thousand years before She brought the Piper and I into the House for the first time.”

Lord Sunday twisted his fingers, catching the butterfly’s abdomen between his thumb and forefinger.

“These butterflies are Near Creations,” Lord Sunday explained, holding the creature in front of Arthur. By all reasoning, it shouldn’t have been able to fly; its wings were sapphire gilded with platinum, its body pure black obsidian. “They were fashioned by Grim Tuesday personally, some…eight thousand years ago?”

Arthur lifted a hand and very carefully poked one of the butterfly’s wings. It flapped them in response, before settling back down. Sunday let go of the insect, its jeweled wings fluttering to lift it into the air, drifting lazily back to the flower.

“When Mother first appeared from Nothing, the Elysium was the very first place She created,” Lord Sunday said, watching with Arthur as the two gemstone butterflies lifted off from the flower’s petals and glided through the air, the gentle breeze carrying them out of sight. “From here She created the Secondary Realms, waiting and watching as they developed on their own, growing and expanding and birthing life. After some years, Mother built the House to monitor the Secondary Realms, to record all the goings-on of the inhabitants and life.”

“That’s a lot of work,” said Arthur, sitting up. “But that’s not what you guys do up here, right?”

“No, that’s correct,” Lord Sunday nodded, offering his hand for Arthur to stand. “I, along with the Sower, the Grower, and the Reaper, tend to the Incomparable Gardens as Mother instructed me to when She left. It is, I suppose, more out of respect for Her, and out my own desire, to care for the Gardens, as they do not affect the rest of the House’s activities. In essence, though, we are the most important part of the House, with the Elysium being the true Centre of the Universe.”

Arthur held onto Lord Sunday’s hand as they began to walk back towards the Victorian-style lake house that was Sunday’s abode. It had been built when the Architect had brought Her two sons to the House and required a home for them to stay in. The Piper had never really cemented an attachment to the place –he’d always been more of his Father’s son anyway –and had abandoned the house and the Gardens entirely after the Architect went away, as he had no more reason to stay.

Though that wasn’t to say that the lake house was ever truly empty, as of course Lord Sunday himself lived there, as did his three Times of Day. Dawn, the Sower, was bright and jubilant, and she would often take Arthur in the mornings to help her plant the newest sector of hedges or flowerbeds. Noon, the Grower, was loud and bold, and was there more often, putting all the flowers and fruit-bearing vines that grew in the lake house in bloom whenever he walked by; Arthur loved trailing him and watching all the flowers’ buds open and the fruits balloon in size. Dusk, the Reaper, was soft spoken yet swift and cunning, and was very rarely present in the house as he had more duties that required his direct watch all across the Gardens.

Days in the Incomparable Gardens were long, as the Gardens were very vast and every section needed careful tending, but due to the nature of the House, Arthur usually only got tired in the late afternoons, providing the boy enough time to say hello to each of the Times as well as wander in the Gardens with Sunday.

Upon entering the lake house, Arthur let go of Lord Sunday’s hand –which was a relief to the half-immortal, as in order to hold Arthur’s hand he had to shrink himself down several feet –and dashed off to hop onto one of the ledges that formed the arched, open windows.

Lord Sunday watched the boy, thinking. It was still early in Arthur’s development, but already he was showing great potential as a Rightful Heir. If all went to plan –which it would, it was his own plan after all –Sunday would achieve what his Mother never had; contentment. And by raising Arthur as he would his own son, he could rest assured that when the time came for Arthur to fulfill the Will, it would be on Lord Sunday’s terms and not the Architect’s.

What a strangely convenient turn of events that out of all the children in that hospital, Friday had chosen the only mortal in recorded history that could age inside the House.

Lord Sunday was proud, yes, but not stupid. There was something at work here, and he would uncover the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This being my first fanfic on Ao3, I hope it's formatted correctly and everything. I'm new to posting on this site o~o
> 
> I had an idea for a Keys to the Kingdom fanfic nearly four years ago, and, as four-year-old ideas tend to be - it sucked. So, after reading taywen's awesome fanfics, I was inspired to make one similar and incorporate the parts of my old idea that weren't completely abysmal. 
> 
> Hopefully, the next installment will be up soon, but we'll see, won't we? :D


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